


dear lucifer

by tsaritsaa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, an alternate look to how father came into existence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsaritsaa/pseuds/tsaritsaa
Summary: I cannot compete with something as painstakingly glorious as youfor your beauty surpasses the ephemeral pain of the infectious reign
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	dear lucifer

**Author's Note:**

> orig posted on ffn back in 2013 (yikes!!!!) so it has been rewritten a bit (see: a lot). prior to father's origins being revealed in the manga i remember intense fandom discussions about how and why he came into being and the potential links between him and hoho. i never enjoyed that it was revealed he wasn't even human to begin with - i think losing that element of humanity made him a lot less engaging as an antagonist (than say, my fav naughty boi bradley)
> 
> i think also i have a thing about dad's being utterly consumed by alchemy and abusing their daughters so: there's ur warning going in
> 
> laura breidenthal, dear lucifer

He was a scientist. Everything in the known universe could be explained by some way of means or another. There was an element of simplicity, of comfort in that knowledge. It surrounded him, enveloped him, _protected_ him.

The obsession to know everything started out small: nothing that his wife couldn't tolerate. After all, beggars couldn't be choosers. But, progressively, it got worse. The pursuit of knowledge began to take precedence over the daily needs of life, and soon enough, he began to look more like a _corpse_ than a _person_ striving for _Truth_.

Sometimes, his wife wondered if she even knew the man that would hardly sleep in their bed anymore. It was like the knowledge had _changed_ him, _constructed_ him into this _new_ man, unapproachable, untouchable, unreachable.

A new _being_ had risen from the ashes of his predecessor's death. Perhaps that had always been the case, and she was merely too late to the conclusion.

* * *

Constructions and disseminations of humanity were always so simple when you really dug into the core material: four humours, seven sins, and an entire hierarchy of gene expression. Which came first? Which held more power at the end of the day? Which would be the weakest link, the part of the problem that would crack like his beakers after a month of dead ends and failures? Purification and isolation was critical to understand objectively, without bias. Experience, ironically, was holding him back in places - but how could he circumnavigate the requirement for higher understanding without these emotions, these feelings? Animals were baser, relying on instinct that refused to be bred out no matter how many times he tried. He couldn't ask them to not bare their fangs when he approached no more than he could be expected to stop now, not when the knowledge was _right there_ , the merest atom out of reach.

Time passed. He wore new paths in his study, dogeared journals and books and pages until the entire space was nothing but crease and thread. Nervous eyes watched him from each corner - some resigned to their fate, glassy and almost devoid of will in their cages. A new set though, flitted in and out of existence until he finally coaxed them into staying, hushing and cooing until the little animal calmed enough for him to pick her up. Nervous, but trusting. But most importantly: _young._ She had potential, but it was not marred by life, by expectations and certainly not by age. There would be little resistance, only compliance to a higher being. He would make her into _more._

He disposes of the older one that night. The blood flows cleanly under the knife, and he watches dispassionately as she struggles to hold onto her breath, the sound of blood gurgling in her lungs. Her soft grey hair slowly stains into a deep brunette, and her skin turns more pallid with every laboured inhale. She leaves indents in his arm that refuse to heal for days afterwards.

* * *

The little animal's screams were high enough to shatter some test tubes. The transmutation ensured the rest followed, exploding inwards and outwards. Belatedly, he realises that this particular experiment was doomed from the start: she was already too corrupted, imbued with too much humanity to be relied upon entirely on her own. He struggled with the temptation to slice her throat as well, if only to shut her up. But failures could still be learned from, even if only to explain yet another miscalculation, so he lets the screams settle in his bones, suffusing through the marrow until he can feel nothing but the vibrations of her frequency. She garbles words - _papa, please, stop, help, mama_ \- and with every second that passes the frequency rises, the phrases begin anew. An interesting side-effect he hadn't considered until now; her telomeres are working _against_ him, rewriting and recoding and restoring as her body struggles to maintain its current output to match the energy he is working through her. Predictably, the organs shut down in the order they always have: the stomach, intestines, pancreas, but it's when her brain finally stops resisting and instead begins conducting that he recognises just how deeply flawed his theories are. Naturally, the rate of error rises when more subjects are included - this is why he worked exclusively in singular experiments, but he had neglected to acknowledge that there were benefits that outweighed the detractions. 

Sedatives could prove useful if administered before the process - it would reduce stress, resistance, and all but ensure compliance. 

He loses himself in adjusting circles, weighing out new ingredients. He writes and rewrites theories. Like before, he stumbles upon solutions after only making a multitude of errors - embarrassingly too many for someone of his calibre. He had limited himself, adhered too strongly to those who came before him. The old Philosopher's never paid attention to when they flouted a theorem or stood on the Earth which rotated the _Sol Solis_ , not the other way around. Refining until perfection is where he stumbles: it is not in the pursuit of purity that ensures success, but rather in the volume of the toll. 

_A life for a life. Equivalent Exchange._

_bend break subvert change alter modify vary deviate pervert corrupt turn_

_become_

* * *

_Who am I? Why, I am the World, the Destiny, the Red Thread, your God and divine deity. I am everyone and no-one, but most importantly...I'm you._

"I am myself," replies the Scientist.

_Yes, of course you are. But you want more. And nobody is more than themselves._

"I seek knowledge," says the Scientist.

_Knowledge you shall receive. Most people pay with perhaps fifty years - pitiful. You, however... you are a new aberration._

"I want my part of the deal," states the Scientist.

_Then take it. The doors are right there. I will be interested in how you fare with that much knowledge. Other humans have expired with less._

"I am not a human," declared the Scientist. "You are me."

_Yes, I am._

"And now I am you."

**Author's Note:**

> _dear lucifer,  
>  I cannot compete with something as painstakingly glorious as you  
> for your beauty surpasses the ephemeral pain of the infectious reign  
> there was a time I do recall  
> I felt pride at last  
> I thank you for it  
> I thank you for showing me_


End file.
